Chapter 6

“_Chrosh orrin!_” (* The cross be about us!) said Molly Donovan, “is that tundher?”

“Devil carry these piatees,” exclaimed Phelim, raking them down with both hands and all his might, “if there's any sittin' at all upon them! I'm levellin' them to prevint Peggy, the darlin', from slidderin' an' to give us time to be talkin', somethin' lovin' to one another. The curse o' Cromwell an them! One might as well dhrink a glass o' whiskey wid his sweetheart, or spake a tinder word to her, on the wings of a windmill as here. There now, they're as level as you plase, acushla! Sit down, you jewel you, an' give me the egg-shell, till we have our Sup o' the crathur in comfort. Faith, it was too soon for us to be comin' down in the world?”

Phelim and Peggy having each emptied the egg-shell, which among the poorer Irish is frequently the substitute for a glass, entered into the following sentimental dialogue, which was covered by the loud and entangled conversation of their friends about the fire; Phelim's arm lovingly about her neck, and his head laid down snugly against her cheek.

“Now, Peggy, you darlin' o' the world--bad cess to me but I'm as glad as two ten-pennies that I levelled these piatees; there was no sittin' an them. Eh, avourneen?”

“Why, we're comfortable now, anyhow, Phelim!”

“Faith, you may say that--(a loving squeeze). Now, Peggy, begin an' tell us all about your bachelors.”

“The sarra one ever I had, Phelim.”

“Oh, murdher sheery, what a bounce! Bad cess to me, if you can spake a word o' thruth afther that, you common desaver! Worn't you an' Paddy Moran pullin' a coard?”

“No, in throth; it was given out on us, but we never wor, Phelim. Nothin' ever passed betune us but common civility. He thrated my father an' mother wanst to share of half a pint in the Lammas Fair, when I was along wid them; but he never broke discoorse wid me barrin', as I sed, in civility an' friendship.”

“An' do you mane to put it down my throath that you never had a sweetheart at all?”

“The nerra one.”

“Oh, you thief! Wid two sich lips o' your own, an' two sich eyes o' your own, an' two sich cheeks o' your own! Oh,--, by the tarn, that won't pass.”

“Well, an' supposin' I had--behave Phelim--supposin' I had, where's the harm? Sure it's well known all the sweethearts, you had, an' have yet, I suppose.”

“Be gorra, an' that's thruth; an' the more the merrier, you jewel you, till, one get's married. I had enough of them, in my day, but you're the flower o' them all, that I'd like to spend my life wid”--(a squeeze.)

“The sorra one word the men say a body can trust. I warrant you tould that story to every one o' them as well as to me. Stop Phelim--it's well known that what you say to the colleens is no gospel. You know what they christened you 'Bouncin' Phelim!”

“Betune you an' me, Peggy, I'll tell you a sacret; I was the boy for deludin them. It's very well known the matches I might a got; but you see, you little shaver, it was waitin' for yourself I was.”

“For me! A purty story indeed I'm sure it was! Oh, afther that! Why, Phelim, how can you----Well, well, did any one ever hear the likes?”

“Be the vestments, it's thruth. I had you in my eye these three years, but was waitin' till I'd get together as much money as ud' set us up in the world dacently. Give me that egg-shell agin. Talkin's dhruthy work. _Shudorth, a rogarah!_ (* This to you you rogue) an' a pleasant honeymoon to us!”

“Wait till we're married first, Phelim; thin it'll be time enough to dhrink that.”

“Come, acushla, it's your turn now; taste the shell, an' you'll see how lovin' it'll make us. Mother's milk's a thrifle to it.”

“Well, if I take this, Phelim, I'll not touch another dhrop to-night. In the mane time here's whatever's best for us! Whoo! Oh, my! but that's strong! I dunna how the people can dhrink so much of it!”

“Faith, nor me; except bekase they have a regard for it, an' that it's worth havin' a regard for, jist like yourself an' me. Upon my faix, Peggy, it bates all, the love an likin' I have for you, an' ever had these three years past. I tould you about the eyes, mavourneen, an'--an'--about the lips--”

“Phelim--behave--I say--now stop wid you--well--well--but you're the tazin' Phelim!--Throth the girls may be glad when you're married,” exclaimed Peggy, adjusting her polished hair.

“Bad cess to the bit, if ever I got so sweet a one in my life--the soft end of a honeycomb's a fool to it. One thing, Peggy, I can tell you--that I'll love you in great style. Whin we're marrid it's I that'll soodher you up. I won't let the wind blow on you. You must give up workin', too. All I'll ax you to do will be to nurse the childhre; an' that same will keep you busy enough, plase Goodness.”

“Upon my faix, Phelim, you're the very sarra, so you are. Will you be asy now? I'll engage when you're married, it'll soon be another story wid you. Maybe you'd care little about us thin!”

“Be the vestments, I'm spakin' pure gospel, so I am. Sure you don't know that to be good husbands runs in our family. Every one of them was as sweet as thracle to their wives. Why, there's that ould cock, my fadher, an' if you'd see how he butthers up the ould woman to this day, it 'ud make your heart warm to any man o' the family.”

“Ould an' young was ever an' always the same to you, Phelim. Sure the ouldest woman in the parish, if she happened to be single, couldn't miss of your blarney. It's reported you're goin' to be marrid to an ould woman.'

“He---hem--ahem! Bad luck to this cowld I have! it's stickin' in my throath entirely, so it is!--hem!--to a what?”

“Why to an ould woman, wid a great deal of the hard goold!”

Phelim put his hand instinctively to his waistcoat pocket, in which he carried the housekeeper's money.

“Would you oblage one wid her name?”

“You know ould Molly Kavanagh well enough, Phelim.”

Phelim put up an inward ejaculation of thanks.

“To the sarra wid her, an' all sasoned women. God be praised that the night's line, anyhow! Hand me the shell, an' we'll take a _gauliogue_ aich, an' afther that we'll begin an' talk over how lovin' an' fond o' one another we'll be.”

“You're takin' too much o' the whiskey, Phelim. Oh, for Goodness' sake!--oh--b--b--n--now be asy. Faix, I'll go to the fire, an' lave you altogether, so I will, if you don't give over slustherin' me, that way, an' stoppin' my breath.”

“Here's all happiness to our two selves, _acushla machree!_ Now thry another _gauliogue_, an' you'll see how deludin' it'll make you.”

“Not a sup, Phelim.”

“Arrah, nonsense! Be the vestment, it's as harmless as new milk from the cow. It'll only do you good, alanna. Come now, Peggy, don't be ondacent, an' it our first night's coortin'! Blood alive! don't make little o' my father's son on sich a night, an' us at business like this, anyhow!”

“Phelim, by the crass, I won't take it; so that ends it. Do you want to make little o' me? It's not much you'd think o' me in your mind, if I'd dhrink it.”

“The shell's not half full.”

“I wouldn't brake my oath for all the whiskey in the kingdom; so don't ax me. It's neither right nor proper of you to force it an me.”

“Well, all I say is, that it's makin' little of one Phelim O'Toole, that hasn't a thought in his body but what's over head an' ears in love wid you. I must only dhrink it for you myself, thin. Here's all kinds o' good fortune to us! Now, Peggy,--sit closer to me acushla!--Now, Peggy, are you fond o' me at all? Tell thruth, now.”

“Fond o' you! Sure you know all the girls is fond of you. Aren't you the boy for deludin' them?--ha, ha, ha?”

“Come, come, you shaver; that won't do. Be sarious. If you knew how my heart's warmin' to you this minute, you'd fall in love wid my shadow. Come, now, out wid it. Are you fond of a sartin boy not far from you, called Bouncin' Phelim?”

“To be sure I am. Are you satisfied now? Phelim! I say,”--

“Faith, it won't pass, avourneen. That's not the voice for it. Don't you hear me, how tendher I spake wid my mouth brathin' into your ear, _acushla machree?_ Now turn about, like a purty entisin' girl, as you are, an' put your sweet bill to my ear the same way, an' whisper what you know into it? That's a darlin'! Will you, achora?”

“An' maybe all this time you're promised to another?”

“Be the vestments, I'm not promised to one. Now! Saize the one!”

“You'll say that, anyhow!”

“Do you see my hands acrass? Be thim five crasses, I'm not promised to a girl livin', so I'm not, nor wouldn't, bekase I had you in my eye. Now will you tell me what I'm wantin' you? The grace o' Heaven light down an you, an' be a good, coaxin darlin' for wanst. Be this an' be that, if ever you heerd or seen sich doin's an' times as we'll have when we're marrid. Now the weeny whisper, a colleen dhas.”

“It's time enough yet to let you know my mind, Phelim. If you behave yourself an' be-----Why thin is it at the bottle agin you are? Now don't dhrink so much, Phelim, or it'll get into your head. I was sayin' that if you behave yourself, an' be a good boy, I may tell you somethin' soon.”

“Somethin' soon! Live horse, an' you'll get grass! Peggy, if that's the way wid you, the love's all on my side, I see clearly. Are you willin' to marry me, anyhow?”

“I'm willin' to do whatsomever my father an' mother wishes.”

“I'm for havin' the weddin' off-hand; an' of coorse, if we agree to-night, I think our best plan is to have ourselves called on Sunday. An' I'll tell you what, avourneen--be the holy vestments, if I was to be 'called' to fifty on the same Sunday, you're the darlin' I'd marry.”

“Phelim, it's time for us to go up to the fire; we're long enough here. I thought you had only three words to say to me.”

“Why, if you're tired o' me, Peggy, I don't want you to stop. I wouldn't force myself on the best girl that ever stepped.”

“Sure you have tould me all you want to say, an' there's no use in us stayin' here. You know, Phelim, there's not a girl in the Parish 'ud believe a word that 'ud come but o' your lips. Sure there's none o' them but you coorted one time or other. If you could get betther, Phelim, I dunna whether you'd be here to-night at all or not.”

“Answer me this, Peggy. What do you! think your father 'ud be willin' to give you? Not that I care a _cron abaun_ about it, for I'd marry you wid an inch of candle.”

“You know my father's but a poor man, Phelim, an' can give little or nothing. Them that won't marry me as I am, needn't come here to look for a fortune.”

“I know that, Peggy, an' be the same token, I want no fortune at all wid you but yourself, darlin'. In the mane time, to show you that I could get a fortune--_Dhera Lorha Heena_, I could have a wife wid a hundre an' twenty guineas!”

Peggy received this intelligence much in the same manner as Larry and Sheelah had received it. Her mirth was absolutely boisterous for at least ten minutes. Indeed, so loud had it been, that Larry and her father could not help asking:--

“Arrah, what's the fun, Peggy, achora?”

“Oh, nothin',” she replied, “but one o' Phelim's bounces.”

“Now,” said Phelim, “you won't believe me? Be all the books--”

Peggy's mirth prevented his oaths from being heard. In vain he declared, protested, and swore. On this occasion, he was compelled to experience the fate peculiar to all liars. Even truth, from his lips, was looked upon as falsehood.

Phelim, on finding that he could neither extort from Peggy an acknowledgment of love, nor make himself credible upon the subject of the large fortune, saw that he had nothing for it now, in order to produce an impression, but the pathetic.

“Well,” said he, “you may lave me, Peggy achora, if you like; but out o' this I'll not budge, wid a blessing, till I cry my skinful, so I won't. Saize the toe I'll move, now, till I'm sick wid cryin'! Oh, murdher alive, this night! Isn't it a poor case entirely, that the girl I'd suffer myself to be turned inside out for, won't say that she cares about a hair o' my head! Oh, thin, but I'm the misfortunate blackguard all out! Och, oh! Peggy, achora, you'll break my heart! Hand me that shell, acushla--for I'm in the height of affliction!”

Peggy could neither withhold it, nor reply to him. Her mirth was even more intense now than before; nor, if all were known, was Phelim less affected with secret laughter than Peggy.

“It is makin' fun o' me you are, you thief, eh?--Is it laughin' at my grief you are?” exclaimed Phelim. “Be the tarn' o' wor, I'll punish you for that.”

Peggy attempted to escape, but Phelim succeeded, ere she went, in taking a salutation or two, after which both joined those who sat at the fire, and in a few minutes Sam Appleton entered.

Much serious conversation had already passed in reference to the courtship, which was finally entered into and debated, pro and con.

“Now, Paddy Donovan, that we're altogether, let me tell you one thing: there's not a betther natur'd boy, nor a stouther, claner young fellow in the parish, than my Phelim. He'll make your daughther as good, a husband as ever broke bread!”

“I'm not sayin' against that, Larry. He is a good-nathur'd boy: but I tell you, Larry Toole, that my daughter's his fill of a wife any day. An' I'll put this to the back o' that--she's a hard-workin' girl, that ates no idle bread.”

“Very right,” said Sam Appleton. “Phelim's a hairo, an' she's a beauty. Dang me, but they wor made for one another. Phelim, _abouchal_, why don't you--oh, I see you are. Why, I was goin' to bid you make up to her.”

“Give no gosther, Sam,” replied Phelim, “but sind round the bottle, an' don't forget to let it come this way. I hardly tasted a dhrop to-night.”

“Oh, Phelim!” exclaimed Peggy.

“Whisht!” said Phelim, “there's no use in lettin' the ould fellows be committin' sin. Why, they're hearty (* Tipsy) as it is, the sinners.”

“Come, nabors,” said Burn, “I'm the boy that's for close work. How does the match stand? You're both my friends, an' may this be poison to me, but I'll spake like an honest man, for the one as well as for the other.

“Well, then,” said Donovan, “how is Phelim to support my daughther, Larry? Sure that's a fair questin', any way.”

“Wiry, Paddy,” replied Larry, “when Phelim gets her, he'll have a patch of his own, as well as another. There's that 'half-acre,' and a betther piece o' land isn't in Europe!”

“Well, but what plenishin' are they to have, Larry? A bare half acre's but a poor look up.”

“I'd as soon you'd not make little of it, in the mane time,” replied Larry, rather warmly. “As good a couple as ever they wor lived on that half acre; along wid what they earned by hard work otherwise.”

“I'm not disparagin' it, Larry; I'd be long sorry; but about the furniture? What are they to begin the world wid?”

“Hut,” said Devlin, “go to the sarra wid yez!--What 'ud they want, no more nor other young people like them, to begin the world wid? Are you goin' to make English or Scotch of them, that never marries till they're able to buy a farm an' stock it, the nagurs. By the staff in my hand, an Irish man 'ud lash a dozen o' them, wid all then prudence! Hasn't Phelim an' Peggy health and hands, what most new-married couples in Ireland begins the world wid? Sure they're not worse nor a thousand others?”

“Success, Antony,” said Phelim. “Here's your health for that!”

“God be thanked they have health and hands,” said Donovan. “Still, Antony, I'd like that they'd have somethin' more.”

“Well, then, Paddy, spake up for yourself,” observed Larry. “What will you put to the fore for the colleen? Don't take both flesh an' bone!”

“I'll not spake up, till I know all that Phelim's to expect,” said Donovan. “I don't think he has a right to be axin' anything wid sich a girl as my Peggy.”

“Hut, tut, Paddy! She's a good colleen enough; but do you think she's above any one that carries the name of O'Toole upon him? Still, it's but raisonable for you to wish the girl well settled. My Phelim will have one half o' my worldly goods, at all evints.”

“Name them, Larry, if you plase.”

“Why, he'll have one o' the goats--the gray one, for she's the best o' the two, in throth. He'll have two stools; three hens, an' a toss-up for the cock. The biggest o' the two pots; two good crocks; three good wooden trenchers, an'--hem--he'll have his own--I say, Paddy, are you listenin' to me?--Phelim, do you hear what I'm givin' you, _a veehonee?--his own bed!_ An' there's all I can or will do for him. Now do you spake up for Peggy.”

“I'm to have my own bedstead too,” said Phelim, “an' bad cess to the stouter one in Europe. It's as good this minute as it was eighteen years agone.”

“Paddy Donovan, spake up,” said Larry.

“Spake up!” said Paddy, contemptuously. “Is it for three crowns' worth I'd spake up? The bedstead, Phelim! _Bedhu husth_, (* hold your tongue) man!”

“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're dhry here.”

“Thrue enough, Phelim,” said the father. “Paddy, here's towarst you an' yours--nabors--all your healths--young couple! Paddy, give us your hand, man alive! Sure, whether we agree or not, this won't put between us.”

“Throth, it won't, Larry--an' I'm thankful to you. Your health, Larry, an' all your healths! Phelim an' Peggy, success to yez, whether or not! An' now, in regard o' your civility, I will spake up. My proposal is this:--I'll put down guinea for guinea wid you.”

Now we must observe, by the way, that this was said under the firm conviction that neither Phelim nor the father had a guinea in their possession.

“I'll do that same, Paddy,” said Larry; “but I'll lave it to the present company, if you're not bound to put down the first guinea. Nabors, amn't I right?”

“You are right, Larry,” said Burn; “it's but fair that Paddy should put down the first.”

“Molly, achora,” said Donovan to the wife, who, by the way, was engaged in preparing the little feast usual on such occasions--“Molly, achora, give me that ould glove you have in your pocket.”

She immediately handed him an old shammy glove, tied up into a hard knot, which he felt some difficulty in unloosing.

“Come, Larry,” said he, laying down a guinea-note, “cover that like a man.”

“Phelim carries my purse,” observed the father; but he had scarcely spoken when the laughter of the company rang loudly through the house--The triumph of Donovan appeared to be complete, for he thought the father's alusion to Phelim tantamount to an evasion.

“Phelim! Phelim carries it! Faix, an' I, doubt he finds it a light burdyeen.”

Phelim approached in all his glory.

“What am I to do?” he inquired, with a swagger.

“You're to cover that guinea-note wid a guinea, if you can,” said Donovan.

“Whether 'ud you prefar goold or notes,” said Phelim, looking pompously about him; “that's the talk.”

This was received with another merry peal of laughter.

“Oh, goold--goold by all manes!” replied Donovan.

“Here goes the goold, my worthy,” said Phelim, laying down his guinea with a firm slap upon the table.

Old Donovan seized it, examined it, then sent it round, to satisfy himself that it was a _bona fide_ guinea.

On finding that it was good, he became blank a little; his laugh lost its strength, much of his jollity was instantly neutralized, and his face got at least two inches longer. Larry now had the laugh against him, and the company heartily joined in it.

“Come, Paddy,” said Larry, “go an!--ha, ha, ha!”

Paddy fished for half a minute through the glove; and, after what was apparently a hard chase, brought up another guinea, which he laid down.

“Come, Phelim!” said he, and his eye brightened again with a hope that Phelim would fail.

“Good agin!” said Phelim, thundering down another, which was instantly subjected to a similar scrutiny.

“You'll find it good,” said Larry. “I wish we had a sackful o' them. Go an, Paddy. Go an, man, who's afeard?”

“Sowl, I'm done,” said Donovan, throwing down the purse with a hearty laugh--“give me your hand, Larry. Be the goold afore us, I thought to do you. Sure these two guineas is for my rint, an' we mustn't let them come atween us at all.”

“Now,” said Larry, “to let you see that my son's not widout something to begin the world wid--Phelim, shill out the rest o' the yallow boys.”

“Faix, you ought to dhrink the ould woman's health for this,” said Phelim. “Poor ould crathur, many a long day she was savin' up these for me. It's my mother I'm speakin' about.”

“An' we will, too,” said the father; “here's Sheelah's health, neighbors! The best poor man's wife that ever threwn a gown over her shouldhers.”

This was drank with all the honors, and the negotiation proceeded.

“Now,” said Appleton, “what's to be done? Paddy, say what you'll do for the girl.”

“Money's all talk,” said Donovan; “I'll give the girl the two-year ould heifer--an' that's worth double what his father has promised Phelim; I'll give her a stone o' flax, a dacent suit o' clo'es, my blessin'--an' there's her fortune.”

“Has she neither bed nor beddin'?” inquired Larry.

“Why, don't you say that Phelim's to have his own bed?” observed Donovan. “Sure one bed 'ill be plinty for them.”

“I don't care a damn about fortune,” said Phelim, for the first time taking a part in the bargain--“so long as I get the darlin' herself. But I think there 'ud be no harm in havin' a spare pair o' blankets--an', for that matther, a bedstead, too--in case a friend came to see a body.”

“I don't much mind givin' you a brother to the bedstead you have, Phelim,” replied Donovan, winking at the company, for he was perfectly aware of the nature of Phelim's bedstead.

“I'll tell you what you must do,” said Larry, “otherwise I'll not stand it. Give the colleen a chaff bed, blankets an' all other parts complate, along wid that slip of a pig. If you don't do this, Paddy Donovan, why we'll finish the whiskey an' part friends--but it's no match.”

“I'll never do it, Larry. The bed an' beddin' I'll give; but the pig I'll by no manner o' manes part wid.”

“Put round the bottle,” said Phelim, “we're gettin' dhry agin--sayin' nothin' is dhroothy work. Ould man, will you not bother us about fortune!”

“Come, Paddy Donnovan,” wid Devlin, “dang it, let out a little, considher he has ten guineas; and I give it as my downright maxim an opinion, that he's fairly entitled to the pig.”

“You're welcome to give your opinion, Antony, an' I'm welcome not to care a rotten sthraw about it. My daughter's wife enough for him, widout a gown to her back, if he had his ten guineas doubled.”

“An' my son,” said Larry, “is husband enough for a betther girl nor ever called you father--not makin' little, at the same time, of either you or her.”

“Paddy,” said Burn, “there's no use in spakin' that way. I agree wid Antony, that you ought to throw in the 'slip.'”

“Is it what I have to pay my next gale o' rint wid? No, no! If he won't marry her widout it, she'll get as good that will.”

“Saize the 'slip,” said Phelim, “the darlin' herself here is all the slip I want.”

“But I'm not so,” said Larry, “the 'slip' must go in, or it's a brake off. Phelim can get girls that has money enough to buy us all out o' root. Did you hear that, Paddy Donovan?”

“I hear it,” said Paddy, “but I'll b'lieve as much of it as I like.”

Phelim apprehended that as his father got warm with the liquor, he might, in vindicating the truth of his own assertion, divulge the affair of the old housekeeper.

“Ould man,” said he “have sinse, an' pass that over, if you have any regard for Phelim.”

“I'd not be brow-bate into anything,” observed Donovan.

“Sowl, you would not,” said Phelim; “for my part, Paddy, I'm ready to marry your daughther (a squeeze to Peggy) widout a ha'p'orth at all, barrin' herself. It's the girl I want, an' not the slip.”

“Thin, be the book, you'll get both, Phelim, for your dacency,” said Donovan; “but, you see I wouldn't be bullied into' puttin' one foot past the other, for the best man that ever stepped on black leather.”